Archive for March, 2014

Oh yeah, it’s going to be that kind of post.

Evangelicals / Atheists

Dear God/Satan/Flying Spaghetti Monster/Yaweh/Buddah/Vishnu/Non-Existent Entity,

Please, please, please, SHUT UP.

No, seriously, you all need to stop. All of you. When every other post from you is about how great god is, or how you think anyone who believes in a God is an idiot, you accomplish exactly two things: You establish that you’re an asshole and YOU FUCKING ANNOY ME.

To my Evangelical (I use this term strictly as a broad stroke of anyone devote of faith) friends, we get it. You have a deep and profound relationship with your higher power, but I swear to fuck some of you need to check your god damned privilege and realize that not everyone is the same fucking faith as you. If you want to spout off about what a ‘miracle it is that XY happened’, save it for your church/temple/synagogue/place of worship or learn to use some god damn Facebook filters. If you want to congratulate me on something, a simple ‘Congratz’ will suffice, I assure you. I don’t need you telling me how ‘blessed’ I am.

To my Atheist friends, STFU. No. Seriously. STFU.
Every time you post how ‘anyone who believes in an invisible sky father is an idiot’, you’re calling me, my wife and my child an idiot.  This doesn’t make you right, nor does it make you insightful or edgy, it makes you a fucking asshole. Every time you rail on Christians, you rail on my wife and my child who do not espouse or believe in the dumbass shit you’re pissed off about that some backwoods ass yokel motherfucker in an aluminum shed church said. My wife and daughter are GOOD Christians, who believe in acceptance and love and NOT BEING SHITTY PEOPLE. Because, you know, that’s what Christianity is really about. Every time you go on one of your ‘God/Christians/Faith is Bullshit’ rants just makes me want to punch you in the mouth, and I like most of you, so I don’t want to…but you’re making it REALLY hard not to. See above regard appropriate places/filters for such things.

Understand, I’m Jew…ish. I’m closer to Agnostic with Jewish Tendencies. I was raised Jewish, but I saw that even MY FAMILIAL FAITH can be turned dark, and that turned me off on it. I haven’t been to services in years, I only go to Family Holiday Events because I’m expected to, and it’s free delicious food. I absolutely believe there MAY be a Higher Power, I just don’t know who/what it is, as such I’m lo to belittle anyones belief system, even yours. But fuck me, guys, come on. All of you could learn to show a little god damn respect and common fucking sense.

Also, it makes you an asshole.

Dear Inconsiderate Motherfuckers That Drive 3 Inches From My Tailpipe,


I’m a delivery driver, as such I frequently have shit in my car that can get ruined if I take a turn too fast or have to break suddenly such as flowers, food, my wife and my 11 year old little girl. I also do something called, ‘Following The Fucking Law’ and don’t drive 60mph in a god damn 40mph zone, regardless of how far it is between stop lights. I have zero accidents and zero moving violations on my record, because I’m not a self important fuck weasel. I drive my car for a living, to help make ends meet for my family and because I genuinely enjoy it. I also drive better than YOU DO. Every time one of you egomaniacal fucktards tailgate me, then swing around and gun the engine on your car, I hope (silently) that you crash and end up like Paul Walker, because you’re going to one day.


Like this guy.

Seriously, just stop.

The next one of you who posts another god damn faulty infographic or internet meme about Obama is getting kicked in the fucking head.

Yes, I’m dead serious about this.

Boot. To. The. Head.

Barack Obama is not a Muslim, and even if he was it is permissible under the Freedom of Religion…because, you know, America?
Barack Obama is not Hitler, when he kills 6 million members of a particular ethnic/religious minority and begins executing political prisoners/homosexuals/homeless/gypsies, then we can talk. Until then, Hitler is Hitler, and fuck you for degrading an atrocity that afflicted MILLIONS of people just for shock value you stupid fuck.
Barack Obama is not a Communist, that was Stalin and Putin. See above.
Barack Obama is not a Socialist, that was Mussolini. See above.
Barack Obama is not the Antichrist.

Just shut the fuck up, admit that either you really don’t like his policies, democrats or that you just hate that we have a black president that isn’t named Morgan Freeman and move the fuck on.

See what I did there?

Not every off-color statement about those who share your sexual preference is homophobic/transphobic/purple monkey-phobic.

It’s not.

You’re annoying.



Also, just because some celeb calls a paparazzi a ‘cocksucker’ doesn’t mean they’re bigoted, it means they were pissed off and used a word.

For gods sake, my LGBT friends and cohorts, PICK YOUR FUCKING BATTLES.
If all you do is focus on, ‘OMFG SOANDSO SAID THIS AND THEN HEANDHE DID THAT AND WE SHOULD PROTEST ALL THE THINGS’ all you do is set the movement back because now the world doesn’t take you seriously.

Oh, and you’re probably as much an asshole as the dumbshit you’re frenzying over.

And before any of you claim I ‘don’t know or understand’ what I’m talking about:

  • One of the Groomsmen at my wedding was a gay man, who has been in a loving relationship with his husband longer than most of my friends relationships combined.
  • A dearly departed friend of mine for over 10 years was a Lesbian, whom I introduced to the woman who would’ve been her wife.
  • Roughly two dozen of my friends identify as LGBTQ+.
  • I have multiple LGBT family members.

Am I gay or LGBT?
But I’ve been in and an ally to the movement since before most of you knew what the term ‘activism’ meant. So, please, STFU.


At this point, I’m sure I could rant more, but I have to be up at 4:45am, so I’m calling it a day.


New Job, New Schedule

Posted: March 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

Hey there awesome, loyal, wonderful followers and friends!

A few days ago, my wife shot me an email about a job opening at a local florist shop for a delivery driver/shop assistant.

Well, I got it. Pays way better than my old Catering job and I’m working at least 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.

However, this development means a major overhaul in the overall family schedule, so please forgive the silence while this all gets works out and adjusted to. I’m hoping to be posting daily once more next week, but we’ll see what works out.

Oh…this has promise…

So, The Sound Off Europa has received a better reaction than I had hoped for. So, I had a thought.

Dangerous, I know.

What do you people think of a horror/suspense novel, written in journal form?
Could be the first hand account of an alien invasion.
The Zombie Apocalypse.
Great Lord Cthulhu and the City of R’yleh being risen from the deep.

I say this because, as a matter of personal experience, I’ve found writing long plot arcs and creating coherency of story to be a challenge.
I’ve tried notecards and plot diagrams and all manner of things, I always end up stuck in the planning stage or stymied in the end.
But, with this kind of format I could legitimately sit down and say, “Okay, what kind of horrifying things happened today,” and just compile them into a journal for future publishing.

Thoughts? I’d love some input here.

We heard it again today, that low droning noise that knocked out our communication with Huston for hours on end.

Humans truly have no scope of the sheer size of the universe, nor for the unfathomable ocean of blackness that stretches between heavenly bodies.

Things that seem so close, even within our own solar system, can take months or even years to reach by any man made craft. But when the human mind is finally confronted with the vast abyss between planets, and then try to compare that to the virtual infinite night between stars, we just can’t process it.

We, as a species, can not fathom being so small.

That is why when we first saw them in 2009, we couldn’t understand. The first time we saw them, truly saw them, was in imagery from the Cassini and Hubble telescopes. An infrared silhouette just outside the outer most ring of Saturn. We called it an ‘outgassing’ of one of the larger bodies within the rings, dust and ice refracting light and causing the line just outside the rings. Then the Helio Observatory caught another image in 2012. A shadow, just on the rim of the sun, sucking in plasma like a vacuum. We tried to reason it away, calling it a ‘coronal cavity’ or ‘plasma cooling event’. We could only see a slight edge, and already we knew the shadow was bigger than our entire world. We buried our heads, reasoned it away, and never thought of it again. The objects we were seeing were bigger than anything conceivable to the human mind, things bigger than entire continents. Bigger than our Moon. Bigger than Earth.

It was…impossible.

In 2014, the Europa Races began. It was quiet at first, but word began to slip that we were bypassing our old fixation with our closest neighbor, Mars, in favor of going to one of the frozen moons of Jupiter. Over the next decade, we saw a surge in the dwindling space program. The Second Cold War was grinding into motion, pitting us against the Allied Eastern Bloc of Russia, China, Syria and Iran.

We saw them again in our own sky, or at least their shadow, when the moon went dark for fifteen minutes. Again, we scrambled for a rational explanation. A massive, previously undetected asteroid crossing at just the right angle. A coronal mass ejection that darkened the sun just enough.

China was the first to launch, the combined manpower of a million workers with the greatest minds of the rest of the Allied Eastern Bloc propelled them into the heavens and streaking towards Jupiter. The world watched, every day, as the AEB broadcast the reports and messages of the crew. It would take them two years to reach Jupiter, but it never arrived. The signal, terminating midstream, eighteen months into the journey.

We found the chinese ship yesterday. Their craft hidden, unmarked and undamaged, on the other side of Ganymede.
There was no one inside.

We can only assume their encounters have been similar to ours. I don’t know if you can hear any of this, if it will ever reach you, but I have to try.

We are so very small.

We caught our first real look at them, a clear image, last week after we lost contact. They were rising out of Jupiter’s atmosphere, the wisps of gas clouds leaving tendrils that seemed to stick to the hull. When the light catches it just right, it twinkles in colors that I have no words to describe.

I can scarcely say whether they notice us at all, or if they do, if we are but little more than an amusing afterthought as one would have looking at a puppy or even an insect that was investigating us. How dim and simple we must seem, little more than grunting animals that have learned to hurl themselves brutally into the void where these beings glide and dance.

I have seen them stop, suddenly, while traveling at speeds we can not fathom. Turn and spin in ways that defy every known law.

How can we even begin to dream that we could, even one day, be likened unto them? How can we dare?

Hollister cut his own throat this morning after rambling of how we were trespassing among Gods. McKenzie hasn’t left the barracks in two days, saying that even glimpsing them causes her eyes to throb and a stabbing pain in her temples. She talks in her sleep, as though being asked questions, but I can rarely make out her murmured words. Is this what happened to the Chinese? Did those brave men and women simply go mad at this revelation, or was it something else? Did they take them, and now realize exactly how truly simple we are and now do not even bother to acknowledge us?

I’ve been staring at one of them for hours now, here in the command module. It has simply been sitting, silent and unmoving. We feel no pull of gravity, the nearby moons and stellar debris seem as oblivious to its presence as it is to theirs.

Is it even metal? The twinkle and shimmer of those bizarre colors seem almost crystalline, yet the shell is opaque and seems as solid as  the moons it hovers around.

I get the feeling they are looking at us now. Assessing. Wondering. As though they somehow know I’m talking about them, like when your ears burn when someone elsewhere speaks ill of you. Can they understand awe? Do they even have a concept for it anymore? Could we even communicate with such beings? Would we truly want to? We have been trying. Broadcasting sequences of prime numbers, complex mathematics, patterns of lights, even ‘Hello, we come in peace’, but we are only ever answered in silence.

I’ve been so lost in this that I didn’t notice the warning lights. The proximity warning. One is directly above us now, maybe only thirty feet from our ship. We felt nothing as it approached. It’s like I could reach out and touch it, as though we were hung from the bottom of the world like a toy rocket. But now I feel a sense of dread. An annoyance at we tiny things who dare to look where we ought not.

I think it won’t be long unt-


Daylight Savings Time, that magical time of year where because some farmers 200 years ago needed more time to plant and harvest so they make us all suffer. You know, with the advent of modern technology, or the fact that we’re not an agriculture based society anymore, you’d think we could STOP FUCKING WITH THE CLOCK TWICE A YEAR.
But no, every year I get my designated ‘sleep in’ day where we ‘gain’ an hour and later on we get the designated ‘try not to crash your car because you’re half asleep’ week because we lost an hour. It’s always the change at this time of the year that sucks the worst, as though your soul has been hooked by some kind of ethereal beast from beyond our scope of reality and is slowly wrenching it from your body. It is, quite possibly, the worst thing ever.

What’s worse is when you’re trying to adjust and outside factors make that more difficult. Take, for example, my adorable 17lb problem.

Hello. I’ll be keeping you up an extra 3 hours tonight. This evening, I will be singing you the song of my people; The Snort Grunt Wheeze Concerto #7.


Don’t get me wrong, I love the little shit. He easily has the most personality and charisma of any dog, cat, rodent or other mammal of questionable legal status that I’ve ever owned. He’s super energetic for his breed, leaping across couches, playing fetch and tear assing through the house at random. He’s shown none of the hereditary defects of the breed, and pretty much the only thing physically ‘wrong’ with him is that he only has one nut.

But he loves that nut, and it must be kept pristine and sparkling.
And the best time to do that is at night. With the lights off. While I’m trying to fall the fuck to sleep!

Imagine if you will, you’re laying down after a long day, partner at your side, eyes slowly drifting closed when this 17lb fun ball jumps onto your bed.
Not just any spot will do for him, oh no, he MUST sit between your outstretched legs and typically with his head on your crotch. But tonight is different. Soon, this horrendous, obscene noise makes your eyes slowly creak open.

Did a pipe clog? Is there a lion with a freshly killed zebra on my floor? Is there some kind of sentient ooze monster creeping down my wall?

No, no, it’s the fucking dog, licking himself.

It’s like a pack of T-Rex’s with cottonmouth are dining on the carcass of Fat Bastard from Austin Powers right between my knees.
Now, obviously this isn’t an easy job and requires some degree of bending. So what does he do?

Oh, I try moving him, pushing him away or stopping him. But nothing can stop The Great Ball Cleansing.


“Sounds like the noises I make when I suck the marrow from children’s bones!”

On another note, Wifey discovered Creepypasta yesterday.

From what she told me, she found a dramatic reading of The Russian Sleep Experiment on Buzzfeed or similar. Needless to say, she was displeased, but like a car wreck, she could not look away.
I’m not going to lie, my inner sadist got a giggle out of that.

I’ve actually considered trying to write some Creepypasta. Given my love of good old HPL, this shouldn’t come as a real surprise. I’ll be doing some research on it today.
And then testing the writing on my wife.


I’m pretty sure she’ll add more expletives, but that’ll be the gist. 

I was originally going to write today’s blog on what complete and utter bullshit Daylight Savings Time is and that my loyal and beloved little Pug, Tesla, needs to cut the shit when it comes to the utterly obscene noises he makes while licking his one testicle as I’m trying to go to sleep at night. It was going to be a clever and witty start to everyones Monday, but instead I remembered a post I said I’d write for my fellow Tumblr HouseOfFantasists and now find myself compelled towards something heavier and more real.

Last night, I went to dinner with the Wife, the Muppet and the in-laws and some visits family from out of town.

I spent half the evening outside in the backyard.

I felt my hands starting to shake, the world was starting to spin and the old familiar sensation of having a raw, live, wire pressed the the base of my skull came back. Habit, training and experience kicked in and I recused myself from the table and stood on the hill in the backyard with my beer and just sighed.
Another god damn attack.

Friends and Readers: I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I am a physical abuse survivor. A sexual abuse survivor. A psychological abuse survivor.

Now, before I got further, I’m not going to post a ‘Trigger Warning’. Trigger Warnings are fucking bullshit, and as someone with PTSD sometimes I just want to nut-punt anyone who posts ‘Trigger Warning’ on anything. You know who wants those warnings, the ones who claim to have PTSD. We all know at least one. The psychological hypochondriac, the Attention Seeker, the one whose ‘trauma’, when you actually dig in, consists of just arguing with a parent frequently. They demand that you never talk about a topic, freak out if you even mention something remotely related to it. I’ve dealt with many other people struggling with PTSD and I’ve yet to see a single one who will genuinely freak out at the mention of the word ‘rape’, ‘beating’, ‘abuse’, etc.
Because people with PTSD aren’t weak, and a word or a topic doesn’t set us off.
We are strong. We have to be.
Now, going into graphic or specific detail, whole different story in some cases. We aren’t stupid, and we know what triggers us and know when to bow out. All you do when you post TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE, ABUSE, PURPLE MONKEYS is give my a reason to bring my own internal defense grid online, put the shields to maximum and get ready to respond with a hair trigger, but all you did was mention a topic in passing…so now I’m all set internally for a borderline pornographic description of something…and you said the word…once…

Much more practical. That cracked out tiger can come out of nowhere.

Okay, now that’s out of my system.

For those reading this with PTSD, I’m not going to be graphic, but if your symptoms stem from physical and/or sexual abuse, this is your polite heads up. The the rest of you, deal with it. There’s a lesson here.

Yes, I struggle with PTSD. I have been struggling with it daily for over 14 years now. I don’t ‘have’ PTSD, I don’t ‘suffer from’ PTSD.
I struggle with it, because it isn’t a disease or a cancer, it’s who I am.
I struggle with it the way an Alcoholic struggles not to drink, or an Addict not to give in to the urge.
Only, my brain is addicted to memory. Shitty, painful, memory.

My first event happened when I was 16, in the middle of my Sophmore English class, not long after my adoptive mother died. Everyone had always known I was off, that was easy to see, and many suspected things had happened in my past that I didn’t want to talk about. No one really understood the full gravity of it, not even me, until my PTSD surfaced. In a single, 30 second event, my world crumbled as the repressed memories of over 8 years of physical, psychological and sexual abuse were set loose. I had my first Flashback, a full sensory complete recollection of only one incident of my abuse. It made me sick and I ran from the room before I got sick all over my desk. Thus began the struggle.

Now, not everyone who struggles with PTSD has the same symptoms or even the same experiences with the disorder.
To loosely quote my old therapist, “PTSD is probably the healthiest psychological disorder someone can have, because it’s your brain realizing ‘Oh crap, I can’t deal with this crazy shit I’m going through, so I’m going to stash it away until I can.'”
There’s some kind of sick, ironic comfort in that. PTSD is, essentially, your brains immune response to trauma to keep yourself from breaking in the situation.
It’s a circuit breaker that keeps your brain from overloading. The trauma happens, the breaker flips, and eventually it flips back all on its own once you’re able to process the trauma.
It’s actually kind of cool to think about, but someone with it will likely tell you otherwise.

Scumbag Brain: The Totem Spirit of PTSD.

The reality, once that breaker gets flipped back, is that you spend weeks or months or even years trying to work out the trauma that would’ve broken you at the time. That struggle causes all kinds of secondary and tertiary issues that can haunt you, effect your daily life and relationships and make functioning in society extremely difficult.
Below is a list of the symptoms I deal with every day. It’s by no means a complete catalog of what someone with PTSD will experience 100% of the time, because like any Disorder there is a broad range of symptoms that can be present or even develop later on.

1) Flashbacks
Imagine having a DVD player in your head. At some point, you see or hear or feel or smell something, and that thing pushes the play button. The DVD skips to a random chapter, and you have to watch the whole damn thing before you can go back to what you were doing. Sounds annoying, right? Now imagine if you could not only see and hear, but feel and smell and taste everything as well. That’s what a Flashback is like for me. A full sensory playback of an event. I don’t suddenly start freaking out. I don’t dive under a table. I don’t talk to people that aren’t there or think I’m somewhere else. When I have a flashback, people say it looks like I just suddenly sat down or leaned against a wall and fell asleep. It’s disorienting and upsetting, because what could be 20 seconds in the real world can feel like hours in my own head. During one of these events I also become hypersensitive to touch, and even the most gentle of reassuring hands is like a white hot brand on my skin. It’s also not always the same event I’m reliving. I have 8 years worth of crap in my head for it to randomly cycle through.

2) Hyper-Stimulation
Over stimulation is one thing, but there comes a point with me where noise and light and people become this all consuming tide that just crash over me and set off every internal alarm I have. A good example is last night. I was engaged, enjoying dinner and conversation with my family, but suddenly everyone talking at once. The echoes got louder, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t hear anything but stray words. I felt my heart starting to pound. My hands started to shake. I knew it was pushing me over the edge, so I politely stood up and went to the other room where it was darker and the noise was slightly muffled to calm down, but things kept going and eventually I had to go outside and stay out there for a good 20 to 30 minutes while my wife had to explain why I suddenly disappeared.

3) Hyper-Emotion
When I get into an episode, I don’t just follow the socially accepted norm of the appropriate level of emotion for a situation. If I get angry or upset, I break into sobbing tears. If I’m feeling good, I’m irrationally manic and bouncy. I can also have sudden emotional surges, where if I get annoyed by something I get irrationally offended instantly. Because of this, and the Hyper-Stimulation, I’ve actually been confused for having Asperger Syndrome.

4) Self Defeatism / Deprecation
Even writing this now, I have to fight the urge not to delete this and just write about my dog licking his one ball.
“No one cares.”
“You’re going to fail.”
“You sound stupid, or crazy, or both.”
These are all the little voices that gnaw on my brain and hold me back, the ones that keep me from finishing projects and from keep me from commitments. Sometimes, all I can do is just hide in my ‘Chaos Corner’ and pretend to be busy, but the whole time I’m locked in a spin of tearing myself and all my work apart.

5) Panic Attacks
Oh, these are fun. Sudden change or crisis brings these on, although they can also just randomly show up and kick me in the head. Take everything above, drop it on me at once and double it. All of it. These are day wreckers for me, the thing that can just shut me down for the rest of a day being a quiet, shaken mess. A Panic Attack can result in me needing to take the one medication I still keep around, Klonopin, because it’s the only thing that can level me out at that point.

PTSD effects the daily life you lead, taxes and strains relationships and pushes you to want to just give in. But many people struggling with PTSD lead relatively normal lives, myself included. My wife is patient and understanding, my daughter knows when ‘Joshy needs space’. I wish it didn’t have to be like that, but without the wonderful support they’ve given me the past 3 years, I wouldn’t begin to guess where I’d be.
If you have a friend struggling with PTSD, or a family member, odds are you’re looking at the strongest person you know.
They might not realize it.
They might not know it.
But they should.

The lesson for today kids is this: Don’t insult me, or someone else struggling with PTSD, with a ‘Trigger Warning’ because it undermines all the work I’ve done to be where I am. That prima donna screaming that you need to put Trigger Warnings on things is full of it and assumes I’m weak enough where some black letters on a screen can bring me down. I struggle every day to move ahead, and sometimes I stumble, but even if I fall I make sure I fall forward.
For those of you who, for some reason, insist on posting that god awful act of self sabotage, here’s some advice from someone who has dealt with it for over a decade: YOU DON’T NEED IT. It’s a security blanket, a wall, a shell. It means nothing, and you will inevitably be triggered by something. PTSD means facing down your demons, and never ‘on your own terms’. Learn from your triggers. Adapt. Overcome. Evolve. Use the tears when you have a Flashback, use that pain in your chest from the panic attack. Each time, vow to yourself ‘Never Again’.
Seek counseling. See a trauma specialist. Get a real diagnosis and not just say, ‘Gee, that sounds like me. It must be me’ because it might not be. Go to group survivor meetings. Educate yourself on the Disorder. Be open. Tell your friends you have it. Have episodes and learn your bodies ‘tells’ so you can read them and know when to bail out. Write down your Triggers, see which actually set you off and which are just things that bug you. Never lash out, you will only regret it later. Write shitty poetry. Write good poetry. Sing. Paint. Sculpt. Do something, anything, productive to purge the pain. NEVER HARM OR BLAME YOURSELF.
Don’t try to change people or the world to stop it.

Change yourself.

Because, at the end of the day, you are stronger.

For those in the Los Angeles area, I strongly recommend Dr. Robert Scott. He was my trauma specialist and is an amazing doctor.

And no, he doesn’t hate you.

If you’re one of my friends, odds are at some point you’ve said, “I haven’t heard from you in X weeks or Y months.”

I always get asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Am I not good enough?”

No, I’m not mad at you. No, you didn’t do anything.
I’m just a fucking hermit.

For as much of a social butterfly as I am, I hate being outside my bubble. I loathe it.
I also just flat out don’t think to call people unless there is a specific reason for it, I’ve never been a ‘Call To Shoot The Shit’ kind of guy. I’m just not.
Unless there’s a purpose for it, I avoid long phone calls and I’m fairly certain the number of my friends who’ve had me on a phone for more than 15 minutes can be counted on both my hands, the number of those for purely ‘bullshit’ reasons on one hand. It’s just not who I am, or what I do.

I don’t believe a friendship requires ‘maintenance’.
The idea is alien to me.
You’re my friend. You obviously like me enough to enjoy my company frequently, our views and mutual interests coincide more often than now and odds are you can tolerate my semi-awkward social skills when I’m not around my wife (I’m kinda lost without that woman).
Odds are, I probably think the same of you.
I’ve literally gone years without talking to several of my close friends over the phone or even seeing them, but one day one of us runs into the other somehow and we just pick up where we left off. We have a coffee or a beer, catch up, and I don’t consider them any less of a friend than when I last saw or talked to them.

Because they’re my friend, and therefor they are awesome.

Let me say this again.

I can go without talking to you for years, and I do not consider my friendship with you to be diminished or lessened in any way.

Does that make me weird? Probably, but everyone knows I’m an odd duck. Exactly why is a topic of a whole other, much longer, blog that I’m not in the mood to write at the moment. If you’re my friend, you probably know why I’m odd.

I don’t look at friendship as an engine, where I have to bring it in for maintenance every 5,000 miles for an oil change.
I see it as a Jackson Pollock piece. Messy, complicated and entirely subjective.

Odds are that this is how I see our relationship. In fact, this is how I see most things.

The one thing I’ve always heard though, the one thing that if you talk to all the people I know, is that I’m always here.
Anyone, on any given day, at almost any given time, can call me for anything and odds are in your favor that I will answer.
Stuck waiting for your car that’s in the mechanic? Sure, I’ll come pick you up.
Pissed off at this other friend because they acted like a douche? Let me grab my E-Cig, but start talking, I’m listening.
Stuck in a moral or philosophical conundrum and need advice? SING ME THE SONG OF YOUR PEOPLE!
It doesn’t matter if we haven’t talked in six days, six months or six years. You’re still my friend, and I will treat you as such.

One of my best friends was my Best Man at my wedding, two others were my groomsmen.
I haven’t talked to my Best Man in…2 months.
Do I consider him any less of a true and cherished friend to me? Fuck no.
Would I hesitate to be there if he asked me to be? Fuck no.
Do I wish we hung out more? Fuck yes, but I am a hermit and he knows that.
They all know that.

Bottom line: Yes, odds are you will need to contact me more than I contact you. I’m sorry, but it’s just the way I am. However, whenever you need me I’m there.

Yup. It’s like that.

It’s that time again…


I love my job.
I love taking care of my family and making sure that my girls have whatever it they need to go out into the world and want for nothing.
Need clean chonies? Done.
Living room cleaned up before and after guests come over? Cake walk.
Dinner prepared? CROCK POTTED LIKE A BOSS!

But the fridge…oh the fridge…

Everyone has that ONE chore they dread doing, that one thing that they just have to suck it up and power through, no matter what.
Shits gotta get done, right?

The fridge is the bane of my existence, and it’s my own damn fault because I’m too generous.
I cook in bulk. >.<

Hey, don’t pass judgment, you try feeding yourself, a wife and an 11 year old whose stomach is bigger on the inside. So, I cook in bulk to generate enough to feed us the night of, as well as produce tasty leftovers for the wifes lunches and for our ‘Fend’ nights (Leftovers Nights).

The problem is that not everything gets eaten…

iPhone Snapshot of what I saw in my fridge this morning. They were upset that I interrupted their poker game.

The result of this is that, roughly once a month, I open my fridge and am exposed to mind-shattering new vistas of reality.
The contents of the tupperware containers of a thousands years align, opening a portal to unknown and terrifying space.
Things. Blink. At. Me.

I’ve already kissed my wife good-bye and ferried her to safety, and soon I shall do the same with my daughter.
Then, I will open the portal. I know not if I shall return, or what state I shall be in if I do, but I know that this sacrifice must be made for the good of all.

Avenge me should I fall.

Disney created the Polar Vortex to promote their latest movie, Frozen, using their funds to pay off the US Government to redirect the HAARP array in Gakona, Alaska and move cold air down from Canada to the US so a major cross section of America is subjected to a winter storm reminiscent of the film.
Frozen viewers see the outcome and are reminded of the film,  sing the songs from the film, post about it online and create meme’s which create a no-cost advertising campaign for the DVD which releases March 18.


(The writer of this blog does not actually believe any of this, but instead wrote it because it’s freakin hilarious)

Well, Thanks LA.

Posted: March 5, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

Yesterday, the Los Angeles City Council voted unanimously to treat E-Cigarettes as normal Cigarettes in terms of where they can be used.

Fuck you very much.

I’ve been an E-Cig user for two years, after my wife and daughter got me one for Christmas in order to help me kick my pack-a-day habit that I’d had for over 10 years.
It worked, and I only have cigarettes on a rare occassion now and am more or less fully converted to Vaping. I’ve noticed an improvement in my overall health, and I can still do something I enjoy with no risk to myself or my family.

Notice, I said no risk.

I use this fucking thing around my 11 year old daughter, because it’s safe.
I exhale water vapor. Not a toxic miasma.

People in Los Angeles are freaking out because of ‘potential harmful second hand effects’, despite the scientific evidence showing that there are no toxins in the exhaled vapor. There is a trace amount of Nicotine, but over 10 times less than that of an average puff of cigarette smoke.
Nevermind the hysteria going on with ‘Third Hand Smoke’ which just makes me want to Rage Frenzy on someone’s face.

Now, bare in mind, I’m not one of these outright jackasses that goes around blowing vapor into peoples faces.
I’ve always been a considerate smoker.
Even in Smoker Friendly areas, I would sequester myself from my non-smoker friends and do my best not to breathe smoke at them.
But this is different; because smoke can harm someone and WATER VAPOR FUCKING CAN’T.

The single biggest argument I’ve heard to support this ban so far is, ‘Well, the flavored vapor stinks and I hate it so you should go outside’.
Well, I’m sorry, but your shitty fucking perfume offends me, but I don’t demand you go take a shower.
The bus, semi truck, SUV or car blowing engine exhaust into my cars window offends me, but I don’t see you demanding that get taken off the road and I certainly don’t demand that they get the hell away from me just because I have my window open. It was my own dumbass mistake for having the window open in the first place.

This kind of knee-jerk, paranoid reactionary legistlation is whats killing California and turning us from the 5th largest economy in the WORLD into the next Detroit.

Mayor Garcetti, don’t be like the people who have been ruining our state. Don’t sign this.

LA City Council…I have one thing to say to you.

Fuck You. Fuck Your Ban. Fuck Yourselves.